


Not Of Dreams, But Of Quiet

by summerartist



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Forced Marriage, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-01 14:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20259901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerartist/pseuds/summerartist
Summary: The demon council means to inconvenience Crowley with a documented joining of hands, but it gives them more trouble than they had bargained for.





	1. The Demons Invite Themselves

First off, this had not been Crowley’s fault. Demons were suspicious by nature, conniving and duplicitous. So you see, there was nothing Crowley could have done to halt these accusations.

He might have helped out a few love birds, but it had been for nothing good, obviously. Marriages were by nature an undesirable life-long sentence. By fixing money troubles and taking care of the children he was in actuality prolonging their suffering. It had nothing to do with how Aziraphale would light up when he heard of terminated prison sentences for the innocent or miraculous recoveries of dying spouses. No, Crowley was sending people back into the horrors of wedlock.

It took Hell years to notice, probably because they had agreed with the whole prolonged suffering viewpoint at first. But then, things were beginning to change in this modern age.

Hastur and Ligur had come to his flat accompanied by several demons in moldy council robes. They burst in with all of the subtlety of the Spanish Inquisition.

A hooded demon spoke first. “Demon Crowley, we have obtained evidence that confirms that you have been meddling with the affairs of humans to do Good.”

Crowley instantly protested. “I haven’t done anything Good in all of my time on Earth. Why would I start now?”

“Your claims bear no impact upon these proceedings. Your punishment will be administered upon this day,” the council member continued.

Crowley nearly shot back a snarky remark about the bureaucratic nonsense that preluded the council’s torture. But he held his tongue, and thought it best to get it over with. Which was it, dismemberment, mutilation, or solitary confinement? He supposed he could probably live with the first two until he was given a new body.

“For crimes that include reuniting married couples-”

“Bullocks,” Crowley commented. It had slipped out by reflex.

The council demon plowed on,“-and various attempts in prolonging matrimony and ensuring the health of offspring...”

Back in the old days they would have left him to his own devices. Crowley sneered at them.

“...We have decided that these crimes, since they are most unusual, should have a fitting punishment,” the council member told him primly. “The punishment will be a lawful marriage to a being from heaven.”

Crowley barely held back from laughing. Did they seriously think that a little signed document was going to secure him to any individual by force? Oh lord, they were idiots.

“The marriage shall take place this day and restrict both parties, so that no essence may be divided between heaven, hell, or Earthly bodies. This means that from this day onward, the demon Crowley must always be accompanied between the realms and be of no greater distance than 100 meters from the heavenly individual, or suffer removal of essence,” the council demon recited.

Inconvenient. Unless of course he just discorporated himself and his new bride off the get go.

“This is made eternal through signed documentation witnessed by Darkest Minister Grefell and demons Hastur and Ligur,” the council member finished. “Bring in the prisoner.”

Something inexplicably cold shot through Crowley. Hastur grinned and clapped his hands together. The angel appeared before them, tied tightly with cursed rope around his arms and legs, just barely keeping from toppling over. A cloth gag appeared and bound him in silence.

“The heavenly being Aziraphale will henceforth be joined in matrimony to the demon Crowley to inhibit his freedoms and to punish beings of heaven, as set down by Beelzebub and the Dark Council,” a crusty old demon announced and presented a paper to them. “Sign.”

Crowley ignored the scroll to watch Aziraphale, who was currently sagging in Hastur’s hold. The cursed rope was clearly paining him, but the weariness etched into every line of his face spoke of other horrors. Clearly the council had no idea that they were already long-time friends, or they would not have deemed this a punishment.

“Sign it, you bastard, or we’ll have Beelzebub come and force you.” Ligur threatened.

After briefly taking his eyes off of Aziraphale, Crowley made his fiery demonic mark, noting that the angel’s signature was already on the parchment. The other demon rolled the scroll up and made it vanish with a snap of his fingers.

“This session is concluded,” the council timekeeper announced.

Grinning, Hastur approached and dragged his charge with him. As the council exited, Hastur spoke, “So, what are you going to do with the angel, Crowley? Imprison him? It’s a shame you can’t kill him or I would have done the honors myself.” Hastur shook his prisoner roughly as Crowley watched.

“Shame,” Crowley agreed dispassionately. “Well, I best be going. Come on, angel. I’d better find a place to lock you up in for a long while.”

He wrested Aziraphale from Hastur’s grasp and tried to ignore the almost cannibalistic gleam in Hastur’s eyes. Though demons couldn’t technically eat angels, Crowley wouldn’t put it past them to try.

The group vanished one by one until Crowley was left standing alone in the middle of the room with the prisoner.

“Keep it together, Aziraphale. Just for a little longer,” Crowley cautioned. He made several complicated symbols in the air and covered one of his eyes while attempting to “see” if they were still being watched. “We’re going to the bookshop. Hold on.”

In the bookshop they could get away from the disturbing events and Crowley could see to his friend. Aziraphale was still trembling, clearly shaken. Crowley held on gently and transported them away to Soho.

* * *

The first order of business was to remove all restraints from Aziraphale and to visually assess his injuries. The events could be addressed later after he was convinced that the angel wasn’t going to discorporate on him.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale spoke as soon as Crowley removed the gag. He continued to babble on in an anxious way, asking what it had all meant and if the demon was unharmed. “Why were you being punished, and in what right mind did they-”

“Aziraphale, calm down,” he said quietly, noticing that though the angel’s voice was perfectly level, his trembling had worsened.

“Yes, perhaps we should calm down, but we need to talk about this, Crowley. This has changed things and not for the better, I fear. Signing a contract is binding, and if your essence should stray too far from mine, then it runs the risk of extinction. I for one will not tolerate-” Aziraphale gasped quietly and rubbed his wrists that had just been released from the otherworldly bindings. Crowley worked at the individual ankle ties, kneeling at the angel’s feet as to afford him better access.

Aziraphale’s legs wobbled and Crowley could see his white wings beginning to manifest, an instinctual safeguard to keep him from falling.

“Come on, let’s sit,” Crowley straightened up after releasing him, realizing Aziraphale was not going to remain on his feet. He reached for the angel, preparing to guide him to a chair.

Aziraphale had seen his arm and had turned rather abruptly to avoid it. Crowley halted his attempts.

“Thank you, my dear.” The angel strode over to a chair, wings blossoming out behind him. When he sat down, he noticed the wings almost distractedly. “Do forgive the break in appearances. Today’s events have left me most unsettled.”

The shockingly white feathers fluttered hazily around him, a visible sign that he was having trouble processing. Crowley summoned up a glass of water and Aziraphale took it gratefully.

“We should come up with a plan,” Aziraphale concluded and watched as Crowley settled himself into an adjacent seat. “This eternal union can’t really be eternal, can it? And it wasn’t consensual, meaning that the Almighty would surely regard it as null and void.”

While the words made Crowley feel strangely hollow in some deep dark part of his essence, he understood Aziraphale’s reason for saying them. They had always protected each other’s interests and this was an immediate threat to their safety.

“Maybe, but breathe, Aziraphale,” Crowley told him.

His companion blinked.

“Take a break. We have time,” Crowley said.

The simple observation silenced the angel. He took a breath and drank, tipping the water back swiftly like it was cheap alcohol. He set down the glass. “Yes.” Aziraphale clutched loosely at his own bruised arms, tainted by Hell.

Crowley had sighed and waited for it to soak in. He could see it creeping into the angel’s features, the kidnapping and the contract.

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale said. He struggled for words. “Good Lord.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows at him. “Everything tickety boo?” On some level he hoped that the playful words would reach him, shake him out of this shocked state.

Aziraphale ran a hand over his face tiredly, looking like he had lived every moment of the past 6,000 years. “My dear, I have never felt less tickety boo in all my life.”

tbc


	2. Unusual Plans

Chapter notes: some bickering and elements of bondage

Aziraphale and Crowley had graduated to something stronger before noon. It was still too early for that sort of thing, but even prudent timing had be overlooked in times of crises.

The angel remained unsettled despite the balm on his nerves and Crowley knew that it would take time. Meanwhile, he could make sure that his cronies had not overstepped their bounds.

“Well,” Crowley topped up Aziraphale’s drink. “I noticed that they managed to obtain your signature.” Crowley gave a pointed glance at the angel’s arms. “Must have been blessed insistent to find a way to get to you. What was it, the first editions... some pups?”

Though there were few things that Aziraphale would not risk himself for in this world, Crowley was an unexpected factor in this formula. He was bent on finding out what had happened. Sometimes it was necessary to be cruel.

Aziraphale tensed in his chair, jaw set. “If you must know, they threatened you.”

Crowley frowned.

“Not directly of course,” Aziraphale explained. “They thought that I couldn’t overhear them, but they had other plans if the punishment wasn’t going to pan out correctly. I thought this the lesser of evils.”

Crowley made a thoughtful noise. Aziraphale fidgeted.

“Just like that, you signed? Alright. Fair enough.” Crowley leaned against the desk by the window. “What I don’t understand is how they managed to pick you, and only you, off the streets. Doesn’t heaven have safeguards for that sort of thing?”

“For abductions? Maybe,” Aziraphale admitted. “Given my qualifications though I’m able to handle myself, as the Defender of the Eastern Gate.”

Crowley knew that he had that sort of perturbed expression on his face when Aziraphale talked about heaven. He shook his head as he set down his wine glass. The angel had sounded so detached.

“Stop giving me that look,” Aziraphale pulled him out of his thoughts.

“What look?”

“That look that says you blame me. I had wanted to prevent this as much as you did,” the angel shifted.

Crowley’s manner immediately softened. “I’m not blaming you, angel. It’s them that makes the messes.” Crowley felt the need to fix something between them. “Right, enough of that. Do you have someplace you want to go? The Ritz? Out of town? I’ll get us a lift.” The Bentley was still at his place, but he doubted Aziraphale could take the drive right now anyway.

“No, I think I’ll stay here awhile. Well, perhaps you’ll stay too if you don’t mind,” Aziraphale said as he remembered the contract’s terms. “At least 100 meters is quite a stretch, gives us a little wiggle room.”

“Yes, how generous of them,” Crowley said dryly. “Not that I don’t enjoy spending time with you, but it hardly seems a marriage, does it? No wedding vows, no exchange of rings...”

“You almost sound disappointed,” Aziraphale said lightly.

“Damn right I’m disappointed. I’m glorious with rings.” Crowley was smirking now and even Aziraphale was starting to look more like himself. His wings had already receded into a different plane and the color was returning to his face.

“Yes, I remember. That singer in the eighties.”

“One of my best forms.” Crowley’s tone was fond. “Well, I’m going to kip upstairs for a bit. Don’t get up to trouble.”

As Crowley climbed the rickety old staircase he heard Aziraphale call up after him. “My dear, that’s your job!”

* * *

If demons could blush Crowley’s calm exterior would be completely undermined to his companion within seconds. As it was, he had to clear his throat and feign a cough. He attempted to keep his eyes on his work and forget exactly what he was doing.

It was hardly more than a couple of days when Crowley was sent a missive from hell. They wanted him back on the job, spreading dissent and chaos wherever he went. That job was made harder now, as they intended, by his new significant other. Well, “new” was probably the wrong word to use here.

“You have to pull tighter. It won’t fool anyone if I’m just wearing them loosely,” his companion protested.

Crowley gritted his teeth and pulled on the end of the rope, hardly applying any pressure at all.

“My dear,” Aziraphale sighed. “You do remember that you won’t hurt me. You need to get into the habit of looking like you want to.”

“Your arms are still healing. I had no idea you were such a masochist,” Crowley said roughly as he did up another knot. His work was intricate but hardly practical for the situation.

“Let me miracle them tighter-” Aziraphle began.

“No. If we’re going to go with this charade then you let me explain why they aren’t done up properly,” Crowley said calmly as he made another loop to feign the appearance of a restrictive knot.

“I’m not fragile, you know. I was quite an opponent in the Great War,” Aziraphale assured him. “Still am.”

“Oh? Then smite me,” Crowley said casually.

“What?”

“Smite me. Have at it. Or better yet, bring me up to heaven. Hand me over to Gabriel with a nice little bow on top.” Crowley’s words were unapologetic. “I’m not going to injure or endanger you any more than you want to injure and endanger me.”

“Crowley-” Aziraphale said his name in a way that was incredibly soft. Crowley ignored it to impress upon him the seriousness of what they were getting into.

“Where we’re going isn’t a place to go without backup, and they’re sending along someone to oversee.”

Crowley finished his knots and sat back to admire his handiwork. While Aziraphale looked immobile he could quite easily untangle himself and walk about freely. The dark appearance of the rope made it appear as an exact replica to the one that originally restrained Aziraphale.

“Yes, about that,” the angel said pensively, “where exactly _are_ we going? You still haven’t told me.”

“A reliquary,” Crowley stated and stood up. “We have to steal parts from a saint.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was flabbergasted. “Not only is that extremely dangerous, but the blasphemous act could make you fall further. If you start turning into Hastur...”

“Angel,” Crowley growled without any bite, “Don’t worry, after the job’s done we can leave the bits on the doorstep with a note from a good Samaritan. Besides, if this one goes well then a trip to hell could be in order.”

They had discussed this before. The one way that they could terminate the marriage would be to go to the file offices of hell itself and eliminate the signed document. “Eternity” in this case was dependent on the survival of the parchment and, in hell, all documentation lasted until the end of time. Stealing from the file offices had never been achieved before, though there had been attempts. All of them had ended badly.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed as he stood in the middle of his shop. His posh waistcoat was just a tad looser to accommodate the ropes and light bandaging over the places where the previous restraints had cut in.

It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t believe that their marriage couldn’t be terminated, it just seemed like more hassle than it was worth. Still, he could not deny Crowley his freedoms. No one could.

“Right, so I should be able to snap these back on and off. Here, let’s put on the gag.” A somewhat wicked smile was blooming over Crowley’s features as he tied the cloth in place.

Aziraphale huffed at him but bore it peacefully. Crowley reached up and snapped the bindings away, snapping them back on within an instant. Aziraphale made a muffled remark.

“Yes, fine. I had to be sure it worked, didn’t I? Come on, we need to talk strategy.” Crowley released him.

The two supernatural beings put their heads together and discussed how they were going to present their facade. The demon shouldn’t be too hard to fool in theory, but it would be a feat to hide their 6,000 year long friendship. Crowley had some ideas of how to display the power struggle and he was depending on Aziraphale’s acting abilities to take it to the next level.

With such methods at their disposal, they would be in hell in no time.

tbc


End file.
